


Kind Of, Sort Of

by SquigglyAverageJoe



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Hyrule Warriors
Genre: Also Good!Ganondorf, Alternate Universe - Normal High School, Anxiety Disorder, Because why not???, Bisexual!Lana, Character(s) of Color, Crushes, Disabled Character, Fi’s kind of similar, For two characters, Genderfluid!Zelda, I decided I wanted him to identify as a man, I didn’t mark it as such because it doesn’t REALLY focus on it, I don’t mind how you interpret that, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, I’ll warn you before chapters if they go into too much depth on stuff, LGBTQ Themes, Maybe you’re just like, Might change the ratings, Originally I was gonna make Ghirahim also trans, References to Depression, The characters are in high school, Trans!Ganondorf, Trans!Zant, and although non-binary representation is my jam, and then I couldn’t decide, and then I was like “OWOWOWOWOWO, be careful, because I know people consider him to be non-binary, but heads up, demi-boy Ghirahim!!!”, feminine!Ghirahim, guess I’m a girl”, i guess, just goes by she/her and is like, make of that what you will, makes sense for them to have SOME of these really bad things., not gonna lie, or - Freeform, or archive warnings, or “Ghirahim doesn’t use labels”, related to that, she doesn’t really care, so he’s just, this fic gets dark at points, ”Ghirahim doesn’t conform to gender norms!!!”, ”Ghirahim’s genderfluid”, ”yep
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:48:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25736068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SquigglyAverageJoe/pseuds/SquigglyAverageJoe
Summary: With only two months until Link’s high school's prom rolls around, Link joins a club, hoping to make some friends to go to prom with.Yeah, that doesn’t happen. Instead, nine of the most popular students at his high school form a crush on him, and it’s up to him to play matchmaker to avoid breaking any hearts—is he ACTUALLY going to end up going to prom with any friends?
Relationships: Cia/Link (Legend of Zelda), Ganondorf/Link (Legend of Zelda), Ghirahim/Link (Legend of Zelda), Ghirahim/Zant (Legend of Zelda), Lana/Link (Legend of Zelda), Lana/Midna (Legend of Zelda), Link/Midna (Legend of Zelda), Link/Ruto (Legend of Zelda), Link/Sheik (Legend of Zelda), Link/Zelda (Legend of Zelda)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

Link swallows hard as he stares at the door to the club room. It’s not that he doesn’t want to join (he does). It’s not that he’s intimidated by the fact that it’s members are some of the most popular (and attractive) students in his high school (he’s not _that_ intimidated. Maybe a little nervous, but he’s not the type to be scared of another student like that, or even nine of them). It’s not that he’s embarrassed about his interest of history (why would he be? History was cool).

No. It’s because it’s probably a little too late to be joining clubs now.

By now, most everyone had either found a club and been a part of it for awhile or hadn’t really wanted to be in a club to begin with—and the school had _many_ clubs to choose from, but there was no shame in not having an interest in them (okay, there was a little shame, but no one really cared).

But here Link is, with about two and a half months before school ends. Only just now about to start a club—why, though? He wishes he knew. For awhile, he just kind of assumed it was because the History club had nine of the most popular students in their high school.

It was one of those clubs that most everyone at least _kinda_ wanted in, Link thinks. Likely due to most of incredibly attractive students in it. And with prom right around the corner, it seems most everyone wants to catch their attention and it’s not that Link blames them.

He takes a step back from the door. Maybe he doesn’t want to do this. Maybe he shouldn’t. He almost turns on his heel and tries to leave.

The door flings open, as if on it’s own accord and Link takes another step back. A girl is standing in the doorway—Link immediately recognizes her.

Lana—one of the co-presidents of the history club, with her twin sister she looked nothing and everything like. Link isn’t even sure if he’d know her name, if it wasn’t mentioned by about half of the boys in the locker room. She stops, looks at him—she is pale, with blue hair and purple eyes, dressed in white jeggings and a blue tube top beneath a white, silk jacket adorned with gold. She’s got her hair in a ponytail, with a hair clip with a red feather on it, it’s hue matching the shade of the hearts hanging from her ears and around her neck on her necklace. Fitting, if you ask Link—most boys think her beautiful and have hearts in their eyes when they see her, not to mention the fact that she’s working on becoming a surgeon.

But now that she’s close, Link can just as easily see the enamel pins on her jacket—he never would have guessed Lana to be into _DeathNote_ , and _Fairy Tail_ , and _Fruits Basket_. That’s something no one’s mentioned about Lana—that she’s an otaku. “Oh,” she says. “Hi, do you need something?”

It’s like every word in the Hylian language has evaporated from his mind and all he can do is stand there, thinking really hard about nothing specific. 

Lana blinks. “You’re... Link, right?”

Link looks at her, nods.

“Right—you’re in my gym class—well, not really, but you have it the same hour as me.” Lana tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Is there something you need?”

Link stops for a minute—and points to the sign on the door, advertising the school’s history club. Lana follows with her eyes. “Oh. We weren’t expecting to get any new members—you want to join?”

_Why did it take me so long to join this club?_ Link wonders, nodding.

“Great! Come on—I’m the co-president of the History Club, my twin sister Cia—“ Link already knows this, but it might be rude to interrupt. “—is the other co-president.” Link follows her inside the club room.

The club room is just a classroom, with rows of desks and chairs, but it’s been... rearranged for club activities, with many of the desks pulled to make a cluster. A group of people are just playing cards near the center of the room—it looks violent.

“Cia?” Lana calls over her twin sister—who Link definitely recognizes. “We got a new member!”

A girl stands and walks over. “But the school year’s almost over?”

Link remembers, faintly, when he was younger, Lana and Cia had been in the same class, one different from him—and then something happened and Lana had gone to school by herself, Cia leaving to places no one knew. Eventually, it started to become kind of clear—mentions of divorced parents, of another, farther away providence and by Freshman year Cia had been basically, almost completely forgotten before appearing all of a sudden, in high heels and black lace and metal rings on her middle fingers, with a slight difference in accent and a personality completely different from Lana’s.

She had made no mention of where she had went. She never talked about anything that happened in between when she left and when she came back. No one commented on her disappearance. She was just back.

Link’s never seen her in anything other than high heels, making her look very tall. She’s curvy, dressed in a black top with one sleeve that goes down to her wrist, while her other arm’s decorated in bangles and gold jewelry and no sleeve. She has her hair silver, cut short and always wears skirts or shorts or something similar. There’s some black ink on her back, always peeking out of any top she wears, but no one can really tell what it is. No one asks, either. 

She stands next to Lana—it makes their similarities and differences alike pop out. They have the same shade of purple as eyes, but Cia’s skin is a warm brown, and Lana’s pale. They’re both hairless, toned, with thin waists and dyed hair and the same face—but while Lana was bright and happy and eager to make friends, Cia was much less open. “Link, right?”

_Does everyone know my name?_ Link wonders. He nods.

“Cool,” Cia says. “Well, it’s easy to join, you just have to show up to meetings, we have them every Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday after school, but...”

Near the center of the room, someone shouts. “You _bitch,_ I’m going to tear your eyebrows off.”

Someone fires back, “ _At least I have eyebrows!”_

Lana looks over, looking deeply concerned. It’s a very violent card game. “We don’t take the club that seriously,” Lana admits. “Originally this was to study history, but now we just tend to mess around.”

“ _Ow!_ My nail— _Geez,_ Midna!”

“I can’t feel my hand.”

“Ha!” A girl shouts. “Suck it, Zant! I beat you! Hand it over.”

There’s some grumbling—someone throws something at the girl.

“This is precisely why you said last time you needed to quit making bets with Midna.”

“...We play card games all day,” Cia says. “It can get ugly very quickly.”

“ _Damnit,_ Zant.”

“I forgot what you were supposed to say when your partner used the signal.”

“That was also one of the most obvious signals I’ve seen.”

“That was to get you to notice and _think_ you saw the signal.”

“Could have been worse—you could have just kicked me beneath the table repeatedly as a signal.”

“It was a great idea.”

“This is why I don’t like being partners with you, Midna.”

“Great! I have to get my nails redone!”

“Ruto, we _lost._ ”

Lana looks over. “Hey, guys. Guys.”

Helpfully, Cia speaks up. “ _Morons,_ over here!” Everyone turns to look at them. “Lana, you have the floor.”

“We got a new member,” she chirps. “Say hi, everyone.”

One voice speaks up, “Hi!” Everyone else is silent. Link stands there awkwardly and rubs at his arm.

“You’re the least welcoming club I’ve ever run,” Cia says. “Or... co-run, whatever, you know what I mean.”

Someone else speaks up, tall with broad shoulders and a low voice, like thunder. “Cia, this the only club you’ve ever run.”

“Co-run,” a teenage girl adds, sitting next to him.

Lana interrupts—she doesn’t look tired or even annoyed. Link supposes this could just be any other day in the club for them all, so maybe Lana’s used to it, or maybe she’s entertained because there’s definitely something humorous about their exchange. “Guys, this is Link, he wants to join the club.”

“Don’t scare him off,” Cia adds.

“Link, that’s—“ She starts pointing to people, first, the tall, dark skinned boy who has to be older with flaming red hair. “Ganondorf, next to him is Midna—“ she points to the teenage girl, with skin that has a mix of black and teal splotches. “And then her like, really distant half-cousin, half brother or something similar, I can never remember, sorry, Zant—“ a tall boy in baggy clothes with skin similar to Midna’s—and similar red har and eyes. “—and then there’s Ghirahim—“ She gestures to a pale boy right next to... No, he’s sitting not next to Zant, but directly on his lap. He has white, chin length hair and his earring has the biggest gem Link’s ever seen. He looks positively bored out of his skull. “We also have Fi—“

“I’d wave if I could,” she says, but she has a just as bored look on her face. The reason she can’t wave is apparently, there’s no arms in her long sleeves, and no hands poking out. Just a blue haired girl, sitting there. She isn’t playing—possibly due to her lack of hands.

“We also have Ruto, there—“ Ruto waves, tan and thin, her hair just as blue as Fi’s but longer, hanging in a low ponytail in wet strands. “Volga—“ A tall, shredded upperclass men who has no eyes but heavy eyeliner and is absolutely silent.

“And then we have Zelda.”

A blonde girl, slouched over at her desk, not too far away from the cluster in the middle of the room waves awkwardly. She dawns a pink sundress and flip flops, her hair in a braid—she looks pretty, but isn’t saying anything and just turns her focus back on the game.

The other students have already stopped listening to Lana. “Wow,” Cia says to Lana. “The rest of the club members are kind of jerks.”

Lana turns to Link. “They get _really_ into the game. We don’t have much time left anyway, but at our next meeting, I’m sure you’ll be able to join a game.”

Cia looks at him. “You might get injured,” she says bluntly. “It gets violent real fast.”

The club meeting ends quickly—there is much more screaming, and multiple curses, and many threats of violence. Once the meeting’s over, people start to slowly gather their things and leave. The tall upperclassman—Volga—who towers over Link and makes him feel like an ant grabs a thin red stick next to him with a weird looking handle. Link’s never saw a cane look like that, but he doesn’t think he should judge the way a blind person’s cane looks. With practiced ease, he grabs his burning red backpack from the back of his chair and walks out the door like he’s done it a thousand times—and he probably has, which would make lots of sense. Link notices Lana in a chipper conversation with Zelda before Zelda leaves and Lana starts to straighten up some of the desks. Casually, Cia sits herself down in the chair Volga was in a minute prior and says, “hey, fuckers—and Ruto and Fi. Time to go, Lana and I gotta straighten this classroom so the teacher doesn’t murder us tomorrow.”

“That’d be a tragedy,” Ghirahim snorts.

“Fuck you too, bitch.”

“Bitch.”

Link’s never understood those relationships where people just insult each other back and forth, but both Ghirahim and Cia start laughing—he notes, Cia has a laugh like the noblewomen on anime shows.

Fi nods. “I’d assist you with straightening the classroom up, but these desks don’t have wheels on them, so I can’t kick them to make them go where I intend them to like we did back when our club meetings were held in Mx. Le’s classroom.”

“It’s cool—you were a big help then, Lana and I can do this ourselves, if you all leave and stay out of our way.”

Ganondorf looks at her. “And yet you’re worried about _us_ scaring off the new member?”

Cia glances back at Link, standing in the corner. “Yeah. I’m too hot to scare people away. Anyway, leave or so help me, I will drag you out of this classroom by your eyebrows.”

Midna smirks. “But then Ghirahim will have to stay here because he doesn’t have eyebrows to be dragged away with.”

“I fail to understand everyone’s fascination with club member’s eyebrows,” Fi says—and Link swears he can see a smile on her face. “...And Ghirahim’s lack of them.”

Ghirahim glares at her. “Need I remind you you need my help in getting home, Fi?” His tone is flat—he looks annoyed, but none of what anyone is saying isn’t true. 

“No—I have not forgotten.”

“Nor has anyone forgotten your total lack of eyebrows,” Midna adds, gathering up her things. Ghirahim glares at her but she’s already leaving with a laugh and a quick, “Bye, Lana.”

Ghirahim grumbles something incredibly insulting and helps Fi gather her things. In a matter of moments, him, Ganondorf, Zant, and Fi all leave the classroom. Link’s still standing in the same place—he swears, it’s like no time has passed.

Lana and Cia laugh, put all the desks back in place and leave with a “See you next meeting, Link!” Like he was an avid participant.

He immediately thinks he doesn’t actually want to join the club.


	2. Chapter 2

Link always parks behind the school. It feels like a safer spot for his car and he loves his car.

Today, he notices that there’s a very familiar looking group of people behind the school. They’re smoking.

Link walks by and notes them talking. Their conversation halts as he nears, and he can hear—Ganondorf, he’s pretty sure—murmur, “Isn’t that the new member?” while he walks by. Then he thinks he should say something, because he’s trying to put himself out there, stops moving, turns to face them, opens his mouth to say some greeting—and then remembers he’s mute. He freezes, mouth still open—how did he _forget_ he was mute? He’s been mute for most of his life. He’s basically never spoken. He says a small sentence fragment a year, maybe, he should be used to it.

They’re staring. Ganondorf, Zant, Ghirahim and Volga are all staring at him, cigarettes in hand. No one says a word.

Red faced and feeling pretty stupid, Link turns on his heel and race walks to his car, locking the door. He swears he hears their laughter as he slams the door shut and then slams his forehead into the wheel. Goddesses, he’s dumb. He’s so dumb—he cannot believe that just happened. He’s going to go to the club again and they’re going to be like, _Look, the boy who forgot he couldn’t talk!_

Ugh. How does he manage to do things like this? He’s not even that intimidated by them or anything, and he isn’t that shy—and yet somehow, he always messes himself up.

He sighs, quietly and starts the car. His car jumps to life and he sighs, backing out of the parking lot. How is this so difficult?

Had he stuck around a moment longer, he would have bonded with them over DnD.

“So,” Ganondorf starts, flicking ash onto the pavement. “Ghirahim, did you ask Lana if she actually wanted to start a campaign with us?”

“Yeah,” Ghirahim responds. He’s leaving small amounts of white lipstick on his cigarette. He takes a long, slow, deliberate drag—but Ganondorf knows he’s not finished speaking. He has a tendency to do this—it gets irritating real fast, but he can be patient when he wants to. (Ghirahim, on the other hand, can not.) “She’s already filling out character sheets that she had on hand, because she tries to hide it, but she’s a weeb.” He takes another drag. “She’s a bit new to DnD, but she’ll get the hang of it.”

“She’s not bringing Cia, is she?” Zant asks. Ganondorf isn’t even sure if he smokes, because he’s just kind of holding the cigarette like he enjoys feeling it’s weight. He has never seen Zant bring a cigarette up to his mouth. It’s his own fault, really, he keeps handing Zant cigarettes and a lighter.

“No idea,” Ganondorf responds. He doesn’t mind Cia, though she can be a bit much. Her and Ghirahim get along quite well, though, due to the fact that they flirt with anyone and everyone that moves, like makeup and making snide comments, and both liked to dress in skimpy clothing. Weirdly enough, Ghirahim also managed to get along with her twin sister, even though they were opposites in every which way, which Ganondorf was still trying to understand, but maybe Ghirahim just got along well with people.

Zant does not like Cia—at all. Ganondorf had tried pointing out that a lot of the things he didn’t really like about Cia, he liked about Ghirahim, but that never stopped them from hanging out. It just made being around each other very awkward and unpleasant.

“Do you think she’d be the type to be pissed if we had alcohol?” 

Ghirahim shrugs. “She knows I smoke and hasn’t ever really cared.”

“Yeah, but Midna smokes,” Zant points out. “And she’s always around Midna. She might just be used to it.”

“Midna smokes?” Volga asks. He’s not even facing them, just staring into the parking lot, because, even if he was facing them, he can’t see them anyway.

“I think so.”

“I’ll bring vodka,” Ghirahim says. “Just in case.”

“How do you even _aquire alcohol? **”**_ Zant asks. “You’re underage.”

“I tend to just kind of walk into stores, grab a bottle and throw a twenty at the counter and leave—like, I didn’t buy it but I didn’t steal it.”

Ganondorf blows a puff of smoke out of his nose. “You’re the type of customer that I hate at my job.”

“I’m the type of person that you hate,” Ghirahim insists, though he’s pretty sure he doesn’t hate Ghirahim. “We just hang out anyway.”

Ganondorf thinks it over—now he isn’t sure if he can qualify much of anything _hatred,_ because even though no one in their club can seem to stand each other, they hang out just about every day. The best example would be Midna and Zant—they cannot stand being around each other without attempting murder, but then they end up calling the other the next day to make sure they’re okay. Maybe it’s just one of those teenage things he has yet to grasp.

Zant’s cigarette burns to a little nub and he snuffs it out against the wall of the school, but doesn’t throw it to the ground. They don’t litter—they like to smoke illegally on school grounds, but they don’t litter, that’s just wrong. “Volga, do you want to join?” He asks.

“No,” he says, and it’s a bit of a scoff, but he’s still not facing them. “Last time I played with you guys, Zant gave my horse a heart attack for no apparent reason and Ghirahim tried to seduce everything.”

He sighs. “I kept rolling ones. I’ve never rolled that many ones.”

“Yeah,” Zant says. “You failed miserably. No one wanted you.”

Ghirahim scoffs and flicks his white hair out of his face, white lips curling upwards. “Admit it— _you_ want me.”

Ganondorf almost snorts, but Zant’s so good at keeping a poker face most of the time, he doesn’t want to give away his crush. It’d be a total dickmove, first of all, and most of his entertainment throughout the day was watching the two of them interact with each other, so he didn’t want to ruin that.

Also, Ghirahim might actually kill him, probably. He just gets the feeling—Ghirahim doesn’t need much of a reason.

“No, I don’t!” Zan’t good at keeping his face blank—but his voice is another thing.

Ghirahim throws his head back in a laugh. “You’re ridiculously easy to fluster,” he says, leaning up against the wall.

Zant mutters something about how he doesn’t have eyebrows, but Ghirahim doesn’t seem to hear it. Volga asks, “What was with that new kid?”

“No fucking clue,” Ganondorf says. “Haven’t heard him say a word.”

“Maybe he can’t,” Zant suggests.

“Oh, then obviously, him and Volga will get along well,” Ghirahim says. “I’m sure communication will be easy between the two of you.”

Volga frowns. “...Damn. Honestly, had Lana not said anything, I wouldn’t have known he was there.”

“Yeah,” Ganondorf says. “And you thought Zelda was Midna, only with a cold.”

“And misgendered her for like, those three days when she was Sheik and was a he, I remember.”

“Who the hell even joins a club, so close to the end of school?” Ghirahim asks.

It’s getting warmer outside—it’s approaching that aggressive warmth the summer tends to bring to their town, so Sheik doesn’t have that excuse for his hoodie as he steps out of the car and goes into Ruto’s backyard through the gate in the front.

Lana, Cia, Midna and Fi are already there. And so is Ruto, probably but he can’t find her anywhere.

Lana turns when she hears his flip flops hitting the pavement and smiles waves. She’s sitting by the pool, her feet in, talking with Midna who’s smearing sunscreen over her arms. Fi is doing the same, but only one of her feet is in the pool, the other’s on the cement with her knee in the air by her chest, and there’s a white cord wrapped around her neck. Cia’s chilling on a towel, spread out on the cement with large, black sunglasses.

By the looks of it, Lana and Cia have swapped swim suits, which isn’t super surprising because they seem to have the same size in just about everything. (Lana’s informed him that it makes buying each other birthday gifts super easy because Cia can just put on a sweater to see how oversized it’ll be on Lana, and Lana can try on whatever dress she thinks Cia will like to see _how_ skimpy it is.) Cia’s dressed in a white one piece that shows off her waist, and Lana’s wearing a skin tight, black bikini that leaves little up to the imagination—it’s a bit weird to see her in it, but Sheik doesn’t judge.

“Where’s Ruto?” Sheik asks—and immediately, Ruto appears, jumping out of the water and rubbing her eyes, cerulean hair falling to her shoulders.

“I’m here!” She chirps, the water rises to her chest, and she’s a grin that’s brighter than the sun. And then she frowns. “...Zelda, what’s with the hoodie? You can’t swim in that.” 

“...Cold,” he mumbles and sits down on the concrete.

Ruto frowns—she is chest deep in the pool, and she knows it’s not cold. “...Is it like... a Sheik day?”

“Yeah.” He pulls the hoodie tighter around him. “Dysphoria... You know how it is.”

“Not really, but sure, dear.” Ruto grasps the cement with her hands and pulls herself out like she doesn’t weigh a pound. “So, you’re not gonna go swimming?”

“Probably not.”

Ruto groans in frustration. “You guys should really be taking advantage of my pool. If any of you guys had a pool, you know I would only be friends with you for that pool.” Ruto used to live in a beach house, before her father moved her here for work—he had tried to compensate with a gigantic, very deep, in ground pool and a bedroom with a balcony, but it hadn’t changed Ruto’s longing for the ocean—Sheik’s not entirely convinced she is not some sort of mermaid or something.

“Sorry,” Sheik says. “I like... I dunno what happened, because I felt like a girl kind of when I put on my swim suit, and then on my way here, I was not a girl, and now I feel weird in my swimsuit. But like, even then, I can’t like. Wear a guy’s swim suit.”

Ruto frowns—she’s beautiful, she swims faster than a bullet, and while she can be a snob and slightly stuck up, she’s very kind to her friends—she can also be rather slow. “Why not?”

Sheik looks at her for a minute and then vaguely gestures to his chest. It’s not a guy’s chest, she thinks—and then immediately corrects himself. Sometimes, he messes up his own pronouns. Their own pronouns? He tends to default to she/her. ...He doesn’t know anymore, this is all still really confusing to him.

“ _Ohhh..._ ” It clicks. “...Right.”

Cia perks up—sort of. She doesn’t move from where she lies, but asks, “Have you considered buying a binder?”

“I don’t think I can wear a binder into a pool—is that a thing?”

“I think,” Lana chimes in. “She means for times other than pools. _Have_ you considered buying one?”

He shrugs. He’s developing a headache. Learning the term _genderfluid_ had felt like, finally having an answer. A word for the definition she had felt for so long—but a lot of tings went into being genderfluid. It felt like some sort of part time thing, but it seemed to take up every ounce of energy she—fuck, he had. How did he come out like this? Could he tell his father if he himself struggled to understand what he was telling him?

He sighs. “How could I just... buy one?”

“You go online and you buy a binder,” Cia says. “And you give them your address and it’s delivered to your house. The wonders of technology, protecting your privacy and your right to be a hermit.”

“I’m not a hermit,” Sheik insists.

“And if we weren’t friends with you guys, Lana and I would still be _very_ social.” She adjusts her glasses and sprawls out. “Just ask Zant where he buys his binders, he’ll probably have a recommendation, so you know where to start.”

“Don’t mind Cia,” Lana tells her.

“Yeah,” Midna agrees. “She’s just a mean old bitch, that’s why her hair’s white.” Cia throws a magazine by her side at Midna—it almost misses, kind of—it just hits her arm and skids into the water. Fi looks up, apparently not having been paying any attention to what’s going on. Pretty average Fi behavior—when she did things with them, she mostly does her own things and just chills by them. It’s how they all hang out. “Ow,” Midna says, but she’s very clearly not in pain.

“She didn’t get much sleep last night,” Lana says.

“Yeah, because you were up all night _writing gay fanfiction.”_ Cia pulls her sunglasses off dramatically and looks at her—Lana’s flushed. “That’s right, I know you’re secret!”

“You guys share a room?” Ruto asks.

“Yeah,” Cia snarks. “Not all of our families can afford pools and balconies and _nine bathrooms,_ why would anybody need _nine_ bathrooms?”

“Well,” Ruto says. “Nine also means ‘no’ in... some other language I can’t remember—“

“But that doesn’t mean you have no bathrooms, you have nine, as in _nine_ bathrooms.”

Sheik almost says his family has ten, but if nine’s excessive, he’s sure ten is no better. It’s kind of easy to forget that while the majority of them is lower upper class to upper-upper class, Cia and Lana actually come from lower middle class families. They don’t even talk much about their home life—Sheik’s never been to their house, really, even though he’s been friends with Lana for awhile and Lana’s seen his.

Across the pool, Fi shakes out her earphones and asks Siri to pause her music before getting up and walking over to them. She just kind of plops down. Sheik’s pretty sure she intends to get prosthetics or something, but he can imagine robotic arms are expensive. “What do you think of that new kid?” Midna asks. “In the club?”

“He’s weird,” Ruto responds without missing a beat. “Like, he doesn’t say anything.”

“Maybe he can’t,” Lana suggests. “I’ve had gym with him sort of, he just doesn’t speak much. But he’s really good at dodgeball!”

“Why wouldn’t he be able to talk, though?”

“Some people don’t talk, Ruto,” Midna says. Midna isn’t the nicest person around, but she’s pretty quick to tell Ruto when she says or does something that cam off as ableist, or neurotypical, or something similar. Slowly but surely, she’s getting better.

“Okay, but that, and it seems kind of weird to join a club so close to the end of the school year,” she says, and that, everyone agrees is a little strange.

“Maybe he’s shy,” Sheik speaks up.

“Maybe,” Lana says. “But he doesn’t act shy... I mean, it’s kind of difficult to tell, because he doesn’t speak.”

“I guess anyone who’s quiet could come off as shy,” Ruto admits, and Ruto tends not to like shy people. For awhile, no one thought she liked Fi, but then they found out, as quiet as Fi could be, Fi really wasn’t all that shy, just introverted and she had started to realize there was a difference.

Lana, ever the friendly, caring, Genki Girl, suggests, “Maybe we should try to hang out with him. We could always invite him to hang out with us.”

“Yeah,” Ruto says. “But this is more of a girls’...” She trails off and looks at Sheik, clearly realizing. “...Okay, I guess we could do that.”

Lana smiles. “Cool! I always thought it would be kind of cool to hang out with him, I’d like having a friend in that class...”

“Aw...” Midna leans over and slings her arm around Lana’s shoulders. “Does Lana have a _crush?_ ”

Lana laughs nervously, her face tinted pink. “No, Midna, I barely know him.”

“But he’s kind of cute, huh?” Midna nudges her.

“Stop it, Midna.” She pushes her arm away but she’s still laughing. It’s no rarity for Midna to tease her—it’s weird that someone as chipper as Lana hangs out with Midna, sarcastic and snarky, but they’re always hanging out like this.

Sheik sighs. Ruto notices and perks up. “Why don’t we play a board game or something?” She suggests. “It’s weird hanging out with all of you without having to worry about one you breaking my nails.”

That sounds much better than staying away from the pool and hugging his hoodie tightly to his chest. “Yeah, let’s do that. I vote Monopoly.”

“No,” Ruto says, still grinning. “If I bankrupt myself one more time to your insanely high fees, I’m going to remove your kneecaps from your legs.”

“I also vote Monopoly,” Fi says from where she kneels. She likes to team up with Midna, because Midna only plays for short moments and then takes Buzzfeed quizzes on her phone and then goes back to playing sometimes.

“Yeah,” Midna agrees.

“Midna, you’re terrible at Monopoly!” Ruto exclaims.

“But it’s fun to watch you lose!”

Lana smiles slyly. “Yeah, let’s play Monopoly.” Sheik’s pretty sure Cia’s asleep because she’s snoring, but she’d probably agree too.

“You all are the worst houseguests,” she grumbles, getting to her feet, sopping wet and wringing out her hair.

“We love you, Ruto!” Midna shouts after her as she retreats into the house to fetch a board game.

Midna buffs her nails on her chest and grins—she has a grin that makes her canines look more like fangs, but he’s been told it just makes her look prettier. “Honestly,” she says. “I don’t even like Monopoly.”

“Neither do I,” Lana confesses. “I just like hanging out with you guys. The most I play when it comes to board games is I sometimes play chess with Cia in her garden and we talk shit about people we don’t like.” By _talk shit about_ _people we don’t like,_ Lana meant Cia talked about the people she didn’t like and Lana sipped iced tea and lemonade and talked about anime she really liked.

Fi shrugs, a simple rise of her shoulders. “It’s difficult to do a lot of things with you all, due to my lack of arms, I just enjoy your presence—but board games are really boring.”

They look at Sheik. “I’m up for another game if everyone else is.”

The sliding glass door to the house opens and Ruto walks out holding a box. “Hey, hey, Ruto,” Midna calls. “We changed our mind, we hate Monopoly.”

“I hate you,” she chirps, not an ounce of hatred in her voice. “Monopoly is all we have, now set up the board while I go get some Oreos and popcorn, Midna.”

Midna looks at the board in her hands. It’s old and worn and Monopoly. She sighs. “This is the road we down. All we can do is continue.” She shouts after Ruto, “Hey, hey! Hey, Ruto! I love you!” And Ruto laughs, the dry wind carrying it over to them, bubbly and sweet. Midna lifts the white, cardboard box. “Ever notice how many o’s are in _Monopoly_?”

“Many,” Lana agrees. “More than two.”

“Five if I had to guess,” Sheik says and Midna snorts. She pulls the board out of the box, spreads it out and presses it down. She mutters something about how Ruto should take better care of her belongings as she lifts up the plastic that holds the houses and hotels to reach the money, but in doing so, moves so quickly, she spills all the houses and hotels out of the container, sending them clattering against the concrete.

Cia jolts up, knocks off her sunglasses. “Huh? What?”

“Monopoly!” Lana tells her, but she lies back down and pushes her glasses back on her face.

Lana looks over at Sheik. “I’ll go get her.” She rises to her feet and walks over. “Cia, get up.”

“Wha...? No. No.”

“Come on, Monopoly!” She grabs onto Cia’s arm and tries to pull her up. Sheik turns his attention back to Midna.

She sticks her hand back into the box and pulls out a fistful of colorful bills—at that minute, a strong gust of wind blows, knocking every last bill into the pool. Midna stares off into the horizon, gaze distant. “Fuck,” she breathes.

“Cia!” Lana pulls on her arm, but it honestly looks like Cia’s asleep, even though she’s sitting up. The fact that her glasses covers her eyes doesn’t help. “Can one of you help me?”

Fi gets up, probably to kick Cia awake, which would be the third time she’s kicked Cia awake, the other two being a sleepover that went wrong come morning, but she slips on some water and falls into the pool. Sheik’s eyes widen and he turns to the pool. “Fi?” He calls.

“Oh no,” Midna says, but then Fi stands up, spits out some water and—has Fi always been that tall? “She’s fine,” Midna says, and Fi, at the very least, doesn’t seem to be drowning.

The sliding door opens. “Okay, so my dad ate all my popcorn, but I do have goldfish crackers and they’re just as—“ She stops and looks around. Green and red bills float in her pool. Cia is snoring. Fi’s hair covers her eyes and it doesn’t look like she has any. “...I leave for five seconds,” Ruto says.

Sheik turns to the pool and tries to offer Fi a hand—and then realizes he’s an idiot. Ruto has a much better solution of diving into the pool, picking up Fi and putting her on the cement. “That was cold,” Fi responds, her tone matter of fact and only slightly annoyed. She shakes her head quickly (like a dog), flinging water everywhere but mostly on Midna.

She groans—Midna’s retrieved a net from the corner and is trying to fish the bills out. “You got me wet.”

“I just fell into the motherfucking pool, Midna.” Fi doesn’t swear often—it’s just something she’s kind of picked up from Ghirahim, who swears a fucking lot. “You tell me who’s wet.”

She walks over in her bright purple high heels, continuing to slip but never falling. “Cia, wake up.”

Lana lets go of her arm and watcheS Midna chase one green bill around. “...Sorry about Monopoly, Ruto,” she says.

“It’s fine,” Ruto sighs. “I hate Monopoly anyway.”

“...Didn’t we all agree we didn’t want to play it though?” Sheik points out.

“Well, now we can’t.” Cia sits up and pulls her sunglasses off, running her brown fingers through her silver hair. Her eyes are bleary. “Way to go, Midna!”

“Fuck you, Cia!”

Cia doesn’t even pretend to be offended. “What about,” she says, yanking a knot out unceremoniously. “Instead of playing a board game, we read all of Lana’s fanfic—“ Lana clamps her hand over her mouth, but the damage is done—the focus is on Lana’s fanfiction.

“What do you write?” Midna asks, that teasing smile on her lips, glowing even at the bit of distance in between them as she leaves the bills out to dry on the concrete, in the sun.

“My money’s on yaoi,” Sheik says, before he even has the chance to stop himself.

“No way!” Midna says. “Is it yaoi? Oh, goddesses, I bet it’s yaoi.”

“It’s not _yaoi._ ” Lana removes her hand, and she’s still blushing. She’s smeared Cia’s lipstick a bit—but why Cia would wear lipstick when going to her friend’s pool is behind her.

This was also a bad time to remove her hand. Cia raises an eyebrow. “Then what would you call what I was reading—“

“Oh, Cia, shut up!”

Midna laughs. Another gust of wind blows the Monopoly money back into the pool. That ends her laughter. “Fuck.”

Sheik laughs at the absurdity of it all. “You guys are dumb, let’s just go play Mario Kart.”

“Yeah,” Ruto says. “That’s a better idea than letting Zel—Sheik sit on a throne of Monopoly money because she beat us for the nineteenth time.”

“It’s actually the twentieth,” he informs them. Ruto shrugs it off. Cia stands. Midna trips over all the hotels and houses and falls into the pool.

Sheik swears he can hear, _“FUCK!”_ While her head is submerged, but she gets up pretty quickly and climbs out of it. “Ruto, you just might have to throw your fucking board game away.”

“It’s cool,” she says. “I never liked Monopoly anyway.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, looking at fanfiction that hasn’t seen updates in months: Oh, I guess they won’t be finished, that’s sad.  
> Also me, with my fanfiction that hasn’t been updated in months: Why would you think I’m gonna stop updating? Don’t worry, I’m working on the next chapter!
> 
> Ideally, I would have made this longer, so we can get to the actual PLOT, but I just wanted to be able to give you something to read—enjoy the chaos!

The weekend comes and goes, and little changes when Monday rolls around—Link eats lunch alone, cheerfully and silent, goes through all of his classes and then goes to his new club.

The minute the door opens, someone screams, “ _DON’T_ _throw the lemons!”_ And everyone has devolved into insane laughter. Whatever crazy antic Link missed, he doesn’t have the voice to ask what just happened.

Midna’s holding a desk of cards, a leather jacket draped over her shoulders. Electric blue earphones dangle between her and Lana—Link’s guessing their Lana’s—and the two of them are absolutely inches apart as they face the table. Midna’s handingn out cards—today, it looks like Zelda, Ganondorf, Zant, Midna, Lana, and Cia are all playing, leaving Ghirahim, Fi, and Volga around a table, discussing something seriously.

The door closes behind him and everyone looks over at him and he freezes. “Oh,” says Ghirahim, looking at him almost indifferently, as if he’s looking at the wall behind him instead of him. “Look, it’s Link—the boy who forgot he was mute.”

Yeah. He forgot. He still feels stupid about it. He can feel his face heat up. Fi calls over, voice cool, pleasant. “If you so want, you can sit with us.”

Thank the goddesses—he was getting flashbacks to middle school looking for somewhere to sit without feeling weird.

He takes a seat next to Fi and notes that, over her shoulders, is a bright scarlet jacket. It looks pretty—and he’s fairly sure he saw it on Ghirahim last Friday, though he hadn’t taken much note of it. “I apologize on Ghirahim’s behalf,” Fi says. “He has a tendency to attempt to intimidate potential members of the club.”

“Ignore Fi,” Ghirahim says. “She can’t apologize on my behalf and I’m not apologetic in the slightest.” Link notes that he’s dressed in a low v-neck, white top—and he still has those earrings that seem to be worth more than anything Link has ever owned in his life, and that’s saying something. He has a _car._ Cars are expensive.

He doesn’t think there’d be any other response to this other than what he feels is the correct one—an accepting nod. This seems to satisfy Ghirahim, which is good, because he’s sitting directly across from him and he doesn’t think he can last an hour in this club glaring daggers with him.

For some reason, he notes that Ghirahim’s wearing white, fingerless gloves, with a diamond shape cut onto them that reveals his skin—he looks so pale, he thinks. He wonders if Ghirahim’s okay.

Fi shakes in her seat, trying to throw the jacket around her shoulders off. “I,” she tells Ghirahim, voice cool. “Am not a coat rack.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Ghirahim says—the jacket on Fi’s shoulders falls to the floor instead of the back of the chair like she’s clearly aiming for. She gets up and tries to pick it up with her feet, but it’s more like she’s kicking it repeatedly than anything. “Seriously, fuck, Fi, stop.” He gets up and just picks his jacket back up. Fi sits back down and Ghirahim walks back to his seat. Link watches him tug it on over his arms—the material it’s made of isn’t cloth like he had thought—it snaps through the air like, thin leather or... something. Ghirahim notices his staring and smirks—the eye contact is so incredibly awkward, Link wishes the ground would swallow him up whole and obviously, Ghirahim notices that too because he throws his head back in a laugh and the light ripples off his white hair.

“On top of intimidating members,” Fi says. “Ghirahim also likes to flirt with them.”

“Yes,” he says. “Because I’m cruel like that.”

_Cruel?_ He isn’t sure if that’s how it works, but maybe he shouldn’t ask—well. He can’t ask. He can’t talk. That has probably played a role in his amount of friends.

Ghirahim sits back down. They all stare at each other. “It’s going to be fun,” he said. “To have a club member that can’t talk.”

“Don’t be fucking rude, Ghirahim,” Fi says, but her voice is still cool. It almost sounds robotic. “He’s new.”

He nods, like he’s trying to agree with Fi. _I am new, she’s right._

Ghirahim rummages through his bag and pulls out a notepad and a pen and slides it over to him. Link looks it over and looks back up at Ghirahim. “I’m operating under the assumption you can read and write.”

He _can_ read and write! This is perfect!

He picks it up and looks it over like, maybe, it suddenly won’t be a pen and will actually turn into a mattress, but he doesn’t know what to write so he completely freezes and stares at the paper instead, wide eyed—the panic is clearly visible on his face, because Fi looks slightly alarmed. Ghirahim, however, is looking at him like he’s about to have a stroke and it’s going to be a minor inconvenience to him.

“This is a thrilling conversation, Link,” he says. His voice is very flat.

He does manage to finally write something down: “Sorry, I couldn’t think of anything to write. _”_

“Huh,” Ghirahim says when he reads it.

“What?” Volga asks—Link completely forgot he was even there. “What just happened?”

“Link wrote a thing,” Fi says, but Ghirahim’s holding onto the notepad at an angle that’s clearly making it difficult for her to read it. “And now I’m trying to look at the thing.”

This apparently doesn’t clear it up at all for Volga. He’s silent, still facing where he has been for awhile.

Nearby, it looks like the table with the main cluster of people have stopped playing cards—no one but Link seems to notice because now that Ghirahim realizes Fi’s trying to read it, he keeps it out of her line of sight. “No,” he says.

“Ghirahim,” Fi says. “You sack of shit. Let me see.”

Ghirahim only laughs—he gets the idea that this is commonplace for the history club. “Why? Why are you so interested in it?”

“This isn’t fair, I have no arms,” Fi says but he’s still laughing. She kicks him beneath the table.

“Why can’t you ever play nice, Fi?”

“Why do you have to be an asshat?” She asks in the exact tone he used. She kicks him again—Ghirahim’s still laughing, but he relents and lets Fi look at it. “...The struggle to receive the information I have was not worth the effort to get it,” she says and Ghirahim slides the notepad back to him.

“I don’t even know when you started cursing,” he says.

“I just know you do it, and it usually makes people do what you want.”

Link writes again: “How long have the two of you known each other _?”_

Ghirahim glances at it. Fi speaks up, “Ghirahim and I?”

Ghirahim answers, turning his gaze to his fingernails—his _gloved_ fingernails. “Oh, we quit counting the years,” he says—it’s not a clear answer, for sure, and there’s something about Ghirahim’s tone that makes it seem like there’s something he’s not saying, but Link gathers _awhile_.

“What about you, Link?” Fi asks, and he feels like she should be doing something, but she’s just chilling in her chair, eyes on him and it makes him feel weird, like he didn’t expect to have to have any sort of eye contact with anyone once he joined a club. “Don’t you have any friends?”

He shrugs, writes down, “Believe it or not, I’m not one for conversation _,”_ and Ghirahim snorts, moving some hair out of his face.

Someone approaches the table but Link doesn’t notice until their hands slam onto the table and someone sits down. “What’s up, none of you are playing cards.”

Faintly, Link thinks he can remember going to school with Midna, as he looks over her skin and orange hair—she looks pretty memorable, but he can’t remember if it was early middle school or late elementary, and if that _was_ Midna, she looked a lot different.

“Zant’s hands are fragile,” Ghirahim says. “He said he can’t play if I break his hands, and I figured he needs them.” He looks over his shoulder at Zant and he looks up ad they lock eyes. There’s a beat of silence before Ghirahim blows a kiss and turns his attention back to the table he’s at.

“Zant’s hands are fragile,” Midna says. “And I’m allowed to say that because I once broke one of his fingers on accident.”

“Maybe,” Fi says. “You just have giant, strong hands.”

“That’s a very strange compliment and I appreciate it,” Midna says. “What are you guys talking about?”

“How much we kin that six armed, 1940s spider man from that weird ass cartoon,” Ghirahim says. “He’s hot.”

Lana seems to appear out of thin air at Midna’s side, wrapping her corded, blue headphones around her phone. “Is Ghirahim talking about _Hazbin Hotel?_ ” She asks.

“I’m surprised someone like you even knows what _Hazbin Hotel_ is,” he says.

“Ha, yeah—Midna wouldn’t stop talking about it, and I knew it was either going to be staying the night at her house and watching the pilot while we ate popcorn or she was going to break into my house and put a gun to my temple while she asks me whether I’d like to watch it on her phone or my laptop and I stammer over her phone.”

“Yeah!” Cia shouts, but Link isn’t even looking at her. “Because you don’t want her to see your search history!”

“Okay, then, just—go ahead and expose me in front of the entire history club,” Lana says. “I have to admit though...” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “...When I saw that one part of that episode, it did sound exactly like something Ghirahim would say.”

Ghirahim smirks and puts his elbow on the table, fingers curling around his jaw. “Which part?” He asks.

Lana’s face takes on the slightest bit of pink. “Um... They’re like... fighting, and he’s like... thrown into the side of the building...”

Ghirahim grins. “And...?”

Lana doesn’t finish. She’s still blushing. Beside her, Midna’s laughing.

“Angel Dust is kinda hot, though,” he says. “Which makes sense why he reminds Lana of me because I’m pretty hot.”

“...Is Ghirahim talking about how hot a character from a cartoon is that he described as a six armed, 1940s spider man?” Volga asks. “Can we get back to that?”

“I forgot the prostitute bit,” Ghirahim adds. “Six armed, 1940s spider man prostitute...slash stripper slash porn star spider man.”

He doesn’t sound hot—but he thinks there’s definitely something to Ghirahim. Maybe it’s the fact that he radiates confidence and has nice hair or the fact that it looks like he has very, very clear skin, but Ghirahim seems pretty attractive. “I... thought Angel Dust was a girl,” Midna says.

“No,” Ghirahim says. “He’s a very gay man—and he can do whatever he wants to me with those six arms in hell.”

“What the actual fuck are you all talking about over there?” Ganondorf asks from the table, looking over.

“They’re talking about _Hazbin Hotel_ ,” Cia says. “I saw Lana looking at some _interesting_ comics about it.”

Lana’s still blushing. “The one page she saw was the worst one.”

“Ugh,” Zant says. “I had to watch the pilot with Ghirahim so he didn’t break into my house and point a gun at my head to convince me to watch it.”

“No way,” Lana chirps. “Me too!”

“...Ghirahim forced you to watch the pilot under the threat of violence?”

“No, Midna.”

“Sounds like Midna,” Zant says. “I don’t even know what happened, because once that weird, six armed, striped guy who spoke like a gay mobster got slammed into that building and said, ‘ _Harder, daddy,’_ and the other guy was like, _‘Son?’_ And Ghirahim laughed for about twenty minutes straight, I didn’t know what else was happening.”

Ghirahim snickered, putting his gloved hand over his mouth. “That was hilarious,” he said. “Best part of the entire pilot, those ten seconds.”

“I literally have no idea what we’re talking about,” Volga says.

“Spider demon prostitutes,” Fi says.

Ganondorf rubbed at his temples. “...Was that the weird picture on the front of your math book?” He asks Zant.

“That Ghirahim drew.”

“Ghirahim drew Mettaton in the front of my math book. You know, from Undertale,” Lana says. “In like, a _really_ suggestive pose.”

“Ghirahim never puts that much thought into what he draws into my math book,” Fi says. “They’re usually self portraits and then he winks at me.” She turns to Ghirahim—he blows a kiss at her and winks. This is apparently commonplace.

“I don’t think he likes me,” Zelda speaks up from her place at the table. “Every time we text, he just sends me the middle finger emoji. I think that’s what he has me down in in his contacts on his phone. Once, we were talking about a teacher we both dislike, and he drew the middle finger emoji in my math notes.”

“He literally just drew dicks on a random math page when I pissed him off,” Cia says. “Don’t know when—I was studying for a quiz, and I just knew it was him.”

“Ghi,” Ruto says, her voice almost scolding. “You don’t draw me anything! I thought we bonded over makeup!”

“It’s nothing personal,” he says. “I just don’t think any reaction you give me would be funny.”

“I am still offended!” She says.

It’s obvious from the way he’s smiling, he’s amused. “My mistake, Ruto—I’ll draw you pictures in your textbooks from now on.”

“Thank you.” This apparently satisfies her. She fixes her hair. “...Do we ever do any history in here?”

“Of course not,” Cia says. “That’s ridiculous! A club, _managed_ by students, about a school subject, and we actually do _work?_ ” She throws her head back in a laugh, silver hair scraping over her the red plastic of her chair.

Link realizes, with that small spike of disappointment, that he might be a history nerd. “Literally,” Lana says. “Just because we had no idea how to actually run a club. Like—what activities would we do? Write essays? Look at Wikipedia for important historical figures? Maybe, have a historical figure of the week and then spend club time studying and talking about their achievements and what’s put them down in history?” She adjusts her hair clip in her hair. “...Actually, that last one was a way better idea than all of the others, but still.

“Oh! That reminds me!” She went to grab her backpack, dug around her things for a minute, and pulled out a worn book, paper back cover. “Here, Link—this is...” She glanced at it. The title said, _Gay Olde Times_. “...I think it’s a book about queer historical figures, you know—politicians, people behind some of the movements, how people had their...” She raised the book. “Gay old times back before same sex marriage was a legal thing and stuff. For when teachers come in, so we can pretend that we’re actually running a history club.”

Oh. Okay. He nods—Lana smiles brightly. “Great! We all have some—mine and Cia’s are about _witchcraft._ ”

Ghirahim pipes up again, “Mine’s about serial killers and I haven’t read a page.”

“Mine’s about ducks,” Zant says. “It’s not a history book. Cia just thought it’d be funny to give someone a book about ducks for a history club.”

Ganondorf speaks up, “It was funny, though.”

“Not when you’re the idiot with a book about ducks in a history club,” Zant sneers.

“No one will know,” Zelda says. “Literally _no one_ comes in here, so no one will ever know you have a duck fetish.”

“I don’t have a duck fetish. That’s a stupid joke—I seriously can’t believe you wrote that on the back cover, Midna calls me once a month to ask me about my ducks, and I blame _you_ specifically, Cia.”

Cia’s laughing so hard, she’s wheezing, Lana pushes the book into his hands. “It’s not—“ She wheezes again, bring a hand up to her chest, still laughing. “It’s not my fault you have a duck fetish.”

Volga doesn’t move from his seat. “Why the hell did I join this club.” It does not sound like a question.

Link tries to smile a _thank you_ at Lana, isn’t sure if he can awkwardly write a response out while shoving the book in his bag, but Lana just nods—maybe she’s accepting that silent _thank you,_ it’s difficult to tell.

At some point, the chaos has died down. The one large conversation about animated web series, to pictures in text books, to history, to duck fetishes fades away and shatters into much smaller conversations. Things wind down, and it obvious the meeting’s coming to an end.

Cia adjusts her miniskirt she’s in, pushes a chair into a desk. “Oh, Link—we were going to hang out at mine and Lana’s house tomorrow.” She looks over at him—she has some nice eyeliner. Like, wings large enough to fly, sharp enough to stab a person. Link doesn’t really wear makeup, but he can appreciate some good makeup when he sees it, he thinks. “Did you want to come with?”

He tries to think—he feels like he barely knows anyone in this room. Sometimes, every conversation just radiates awkwardness in his mind, and he thinks it’s a good thing he doesn’t talk to anyone, because then his voice would give away how just how out of it he really is. He doesn’t think he can really say no—what kind of excuse is he going to give? And it’s nice of Cia to invite him, anyway, does he really want to reject such a nice invitation? He nods.

“Cool,” she says. “Lana isn’t going to be there, because she’s a loser, I needed someone else to come to make it look like I have friends.”

Lana calls across the room, “Did you even listen to that podcast?” She asks. “It’s fun! We can talk about school over lemonade with our friends any other day, I just wanna play _DnD_!”

“Yes,” Cia says. “And that’s exactly why I called you a loser. With that said—“ She turned to her right, looked at Ghirahim and Zant and Ganondorf, all talking with each other. “—if those three morons eat you alive or something, tell me and I’ll murder them.”

Ghirahim smiles. “Lana’s not a snitch.”

“I think I’ll be fine with them,” Lana says. “In all the time I’ve known Ghi, he has yet to cut my throat while I sleep.”

“Yes. He has yet to—and if he does it while I’m not looking, I’ll _know it was him._ ” Ghirahim kind of just shrugs, laughs.

He scribbles out on his paper, “Lana plays _DND_? _”_

“Yeah,” Cia says. “She’s been dying to have someone to play with for awhile now. Are you a nerd too?”

He’s been waiting for a chance to join a campaign! It wasn’t even like there was a shortage of people into _DnD_ , it was just that he had never spoken to any of them for obvious reasons. “Ghirahim, Ganondorf, and Zant are always talking about their next campaign behind the school, just about every day.” _Was that what they were doing?_ Of course. Of course. “Honestly, if you asked, they’d probably let you join theirs, they like having inexperienced players, because they like to make fun of them.”

Of course.

Before he leaves the club room, he tries to give Ghirahim the notebook back—it doesn’t feel like his, it feels wrong to hold onto it, but Ghirahim only glances at him, helping Fi with her backpack. “Keep it,” he tells him. “Think of it as some sort of gift—maybe it’ll make you less boring.” Without another word, him and Fi disappear into the hallway in an instant.

“Wow,” Midna pipes up—and then turns to Lana. “Can’t believe you’re friends with that asshole.”

“That’s the least asshole-ish thing Ghi’s done today,” Zant says from across the room, grabbing his bag and his duck book. Sound travels easily in the club room, and he and Midna always seem to be disagreeing with each other.

“He’s an alright guy,” Lana says. “Really. He encouraged me to try and play _DnD,_ and he’s been teaching me fencing for a few—“ She stops a moment. “...About a year at this point.”

Zelda’s standing nearby, also ready to leave and texting a parent on her phone, but she looks at him, looking at Lana confused. “Oh, Lana’s known Ghirahim for awhile,” she tells him. “About as long as Fi’s known Ghirahim, her and Cia.”

“Oh, no,” Lana says. “Fi’s _definitely_ known Ghirahim longer than us. ...Sort of. I’m not sure if they were friends at first, but they knew each other.” Now she’s stumbling, stammering—she rubs the back of her neck. “Um... I mean... Cia and I kind of knew him, but I’m not sure how well he knew us?” She looks to Cia, who just shrugs rather helplessly. “...That kind of makes it sound like we were stalking him or something.” Just about everyone in the room nodded in agreement, that that did kind of sound like stalking. “But we weren’t.”

“At some point,” Cia chimes in, taking the attention off her twin who was very obviously buckling beneath everyone’s gaze. “It gets kind of difficult to measure the time—when it reaches the amount it has. A while—Fi, Ghi, Lana and I have all known each other a while.”

Midna laughs. “You guys are so vague—it makes it seem way more interesting than it really is, Lana made it sound like the most boring thing in the world when she told me about it.”

“It’s really not that interesting,” Cia says. “I mean, I think I might have punched him at some point? And he definitely hit on me. And he might have hit Lana. And he has hit on multiple men, just—in general, we have to make it sound interesting so our friendship doesn’t bore everyone.”

Link shoves his new notebook into his backpack—as much of an asshole Ghirahim may or may not be, he thinks it was a nice gesture and he appreciates it. It’s a good way to maybe communicate with the rest of the club. He might get some friends out of all this.

“You should join the group chat,” Zelda says—Link recognizes her, another familiar face from his schooling, though they hadn’t talked much for obvious reasons. “Here, I’ll add you—what’s your phone number?”

...He just put his notebook in his backpack.

Awkwardly, he pulls his phone out of his pocket. He takes a moment to unlock it and shows Zelda his phone number from his contacts. She smiles and adds him to the group chat, appropriately titled, _GET YO FUCKIN LEMONS OUTTA THIS GROUP CHAT_ , making it clear that it’s a group chat.

“Cool,” she says. “Everyone in the club’s in it.”

He nods and gives a thumbs up. She nods, a small wave in a strand of her hair bobs with the movement and she turns out the door.

“Ugh,” Volga says, hand on his cane. “I can’t believe I’m friends with all you assholes.”

His phone vibrates while he’s in the car, but he doesn’t look at it, because that could kill him, being at the wheel and all. When pulls into the driveway of his home, he looks at the group chat—there’s about five messages, and more are coming in.

An unknown number texts, “Everyone, shut the FUCK UP, and look at how gorgeous this dress is.” The same number sends a second text—a photo of a ball gown, bright scarlet with a laced up corset top on a mannequin.

A second unknown number asks, “G, did you find what you’re wearing to prom?”

“Please, I found my prom get up ages ago, Zantie. I just wanted to show off my flawless sense of style.” A second text read, “It’s so pretty, even CIA would look good in it.”

The next two texts come in almost at the same time, a “Oh, come on, we all know Cia’s one of the prettiest girls at school, we don’t need to insult her,” and, what he assumes is Cia texts, “FUCK YOU.”

“Bitch, you WISH you had the guts to fuck me.”

Another unknown number adds, “Save your lover’s quarrel for the bedroom, guys, not the group chat,” and changes the group chat name to _GET YO FUCKIN_ _straight love OUTTA THIS GROUP CHAT_.

“Shame on you, G,” that unknown number that Link was pretty sure also went by G. “It’s not straight just because I’m a man and she’s a woman, you know I’m bi.”

“And I’m pan??????”

A fourth number says, “Ganon’s biphobic CONFIRMED.”

He feels like he has a thing to add into the conversation, and now’s a good time to add it. “And panphobic,” he types.

Nearly the same time, someone else texts, “And panphobic,” too and then they both send identical texts that they just sent identical texts and then someone asks, “Who the fuck is this?”

“I put him in!” Zelda says, because it has to be Zelda. He fixes his contact information, so he knows it’s Zelda from now on—except, doesn’t Zelda sometimes go by Sheik? He forgot about that—he fixes it to say _Zelda/Sheik_ so he remembers, because he isn’t an asshole. “Guys, say hi to Link.”

“NO.” That first number.

That other G (the biphobe/panphobe) says, “Don’t be fucking rude, G.”

“Make me G.”

“BITCH.”

“BITCH!”

He says, “I have no idea who is talking anymore.”

“It’s Ghirahim,” the first number says.

The number that had responded to him the first bit and had also been sending texts identical to Link was Zant. Cia didn’t have the guts to fuck Ghirahim. Ruto confirmed Ganondorf was biphobic. Midna texts, “Wassup, I’m here now, and I’m concerned that now that we got rid of the lemons for the straight love, the lemons are gonna come back.”

His phone blows up. Zant texts wildly, _“_ OH NO MIDNA, WHAT’S THAT IN THE DISTANCE?”

“You better fucking pray it’s not lemons.”

“OH NO.” Another separate text. “IT’S.” Another. “ITS—“

Everyone is sending so many lemon emojis. Midna has changed the group chat name to, _ZANT YOUR FUCKING DEAD_.

“What about my fucking dead?” Zant asks.

“They always get like this,” Lana assures him.

Cia adds in, “And it’s really fun to watch.”

“ITS TURNING YOUR BEDROOM INTO A MOTHERFUCKING GRAVEYARD, LETS FUCKING GO.”

Ganondorf changes the group chat name from _ZANT YOUR FUCKING DEAD_ to _Find Zant tomorrow and he’ll be a grave man._

Ghirahim changes _that_ into _Find Zant tomorrow and he’ll be a grave (trans)man_ _because there is no fucking way he’d ever want to be cis._

Ganondorf makes it, _You’re absolutely right, that was my mistake G,_ and then Ghirahim changes it, hopefully for good, into _Find Zant tomorrow and he’ll be a grave (trans)man._

Ruto sends a thumbs up, and announces, “You should put Ghirahim and Ganon in charge of your tombstone for when Midna murders you.”

“I should, because I don’t want anyone to think I’m cis, that’s worse than death.”

“You need the trans✨ L O O K✨“ Ghirahim agrees. “And also an ambulance, I am on my way.”

“It’s too late for me. Just make sure you get violets.” A second text says, “They’re Midna’s favorite flower, after all.”


End file.
